lanselos_du_lac

Susan sighs, and rolls her eyes at herself, and shifts a little to the side. Taking the hand he doesn't have in her hair back between her own, she studies it: the hair on the back of it, the strength in his fingers, the light calluses on his palms. "I wasn't bound to Miriam," she says, touching each of his nails in turn. She's steeling herself before every word - not because she thinks he'll react poorly, but rather because verbalizing this at all still feels so impossible. "Before. But I believe she might be the closest I've ever come to that sort of thing."